" "Propose it," returned Blueskin, inclining his head. "Is it gold?" "Pure gold," replied Kneebone. Lucy kicked her side, then her wounded leg, dislodging her. Built and paved with stone, without beds, or any other sort of protection from the cold, this dreadful hole, accounted the most dark and dismal in the prison, was made the receptacle of such miserable wretches as could not pay the customary fees. She did not remember him, but he said that he had introduced himself to her when she was visiting the butcher's family. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. “Take my advice,” he said hoarsely.
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